


en fuego

by algae_dad



Series: Simon Lewis and Jace Wayland deserve more [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Ableism, Anxiety, Background Malec, Canon Jewish Character, Depression, Dissociation, Downwordler Dad Luke, Downworlder Dad Magnus, Gen, Hurt Simon Lewis, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Non-Verbal Character, Non-Verbal Simon Lewis, Panic Attacks, Simon-centric, Suicide Attempt, Trans Jace Wayland, and everyone eventually helps him, basically: simon lewis is a lil Fucked Up, bc fuck u, clary fray is a good friend i promise, more tags as needed, selective mutism, simon lewis is a memelord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/algae_dad/pseuds/algae_dad
Summary: Simon Lewis is fine, really. So fine that he tries to kill himself by standing in the sun, can't speak about any of his issues out loud, and is terrified that everyone he knows will abandon him as soon as they find out he isn't as well-adjusted as he seems.or: Simon steps into the sun, and the burns left on him are far from the most lasting damages.





	1. Chapter 1

Maybe, in the end, burning is what he’s destined for. He'd always planned to be cremated; less cost that way, less mess.

He's been dead for long enough now; time for the funeral.

On some level, Simon knows he's overreacting. Just because he's been abandoned by his clan and ignored by all his friends and can't go back to his family, doesn't mean he should kill himself (it's not killing yourself if you're already dead). He knows a stake to the heart would be easier, but does he really deserve easy? After betraying the people who had taken him in and taught him what his new body meant? After daring to think his problems were more important than Shadowhunters’? Than the goddamned apocalypse?

No, this is what he deserves. Simon jumps out of the canoe, goes to the door. He steps outside.

\--

“Clary, are you alright?”

“No I'm not alright! Izzy, Jace is gone-”

“You think she doesn't know that?” Alec interrupts, noticeably putting himself between the girl and his sister. “We've known him for _years_ ; Jace is _our_ brother first, my parabatai. Just because you're at the center of this mess doesn't mean the world revolves around you.”

Instead of responding, Clary huffs and walks away.

Isabelle shoulders up to her brother, “You could be a bit easier on her. After all, this is still pretty new for her.”

“She needs to pay attention to people besides herself.” Alec fires back, clearly seeing himself as in the right.

\--

 _burning burning burning_ G o d _makeitstop_

\--

“Has anyone heard from or seen Jace Wayland?”

“Luke, just because you're happy to get in bed with Shadowhu-” the other wolf is cut off by a low growl from his alpha, “No, we haven't seen him. Maybe ask the feeder in the storage unit.”

Luke answers with little hesitation, “No, Simon would tell us if he saw anything. He knows how important this is.”

\--

_is this what it would feel like if I went back to temple?_

_\--_

“Not that I don't appreciate your company biscuit; I'm just rather busy at the moment.”

“Magnus! Alec yelled at me, Izzy is chasing leads and now Simon isn't answering his phone! I just need someone to talk to about… This.” Clary is punctuated by her plopping onto Magnus’ couch.

The warlock sighs heavily in response. “I know these revelations are tough, pumpkin, but right now finding Valentine is the priority, and we're all doing our part to help,” he emphasizes this by gesturing to the tracking sigil he's working over, covered in various herbs and possessions of Jace’s.

“I know, I know. I just wish I could deal with _my_ problems first, then focus on the big picture deal.”

\--

_Am I… I think I'm still alive._

* * *

 

Concrete. Not the rough, graveled kind from outside, but smooth and cool and _real_ . Simon pushes himself up, hisses at the stretch and sting of his blistered flesh (and oh, is it covered; every inch of him raw and red and _burning_ but oh so _alive_ ). He must have thrown himself back inside last minute; the sun looks to be in the same position, still shining in that warm way Simon yearned to feel on his skin. Simon, who is still there, still _alive_ (or as living as he can be). Simon, who failed again, who selfishly thought he could be rid of this world when he still has to protect Clary (that's why she brought him back right? to keep her alive?)

He doesn't pull himself up much further than his knees when he realizes he can't do this. He can't get up and pretend he's fine, can't ignore how his skin peels away to reveal his blackened blood. So Simon sits, and thinks about his weakness, thinks about his bleeding skin, and thinks and thinks and thinks and doesn't do much else.

The storage crate door is still open; he sees the sun go down and he feels the hunger rip through him but he just sits, and thinks. Seems that's all he's good for, now. Seems that's the only thing he can get right.

\--

After successfully shooing Clary out of his apartment, Magnus thinks back on all she had said. While most of it was typical reactions to such drama, one part stands out: Simon not calling. As far as Magnus knows, the fledgling is attached to Clary’s hip, following her and comforting her over as little as a stubbed toe. Clary hadn't mentioned a falling out between the two, and while he prides himself on his own mystery, Magnus does not enjoy the unexpected. So he rummages through his drawers, picking up the glass Simon used to feed when he was last there, and summons the image of the boy's location.

 _Ah, storage container, just as I tho- oh dear._ Magnus closes the connection, cursing himself for not paying closer attention to the boy.

 _Though_ , he thinks with some bitterness, _we all could have been better at that._ Picturing Simon sitting there, angry burns covering his body, Magnus steels himself and collects a few blood packs. He is the downworlder dad, after all.

\--

“Has anyone heard from Simon?”

“Clary, really? We’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little vampire boyfriend.”

\--

A portal. Simon hears the still not-quite-familiar whir and scrambles to his feet, ignoring the protest of his skin and the hunger still gnawing at him. Portal means something important, means he might be needed; a portal means he needs to stop wallowing and start being _useful_. He's confused when, instead of the heavy fall of boots or the clack of quick heels, he hears, slow measured footsteps approaching him.

“Simon?” Magnus. Magnus wouldn't come to him unless everyone else is already fighting; he would only use Simon as a last resort. _What is going on?_

As soon as the warlock is in his line of sight, Simon takes a step back; this is not a we're-going-quit-your-moping look, there is concern in Magnus’ eyes.

“Magnus-I… What's up?” Simon finishes lamely, confusion clear on his face.

Magnus sighs, stepping through the threshold and looking pointedly at the burns still coating Simon’s skin. “My poor boy,” he gets close enough to reach out, but doesn't make to touch him, “what did you do?”

Simon takes a step back, “Wh-what do you mean? I've just been waiting here; what with not being allowed in the Institute and all.” His tone is slightly bitter by the end, but Magnus knows that the confusion at why he is asking is genuine. Somehow, that makes it hurt even more. This time, he does reach out to touch the vampire, and instinctually sends soothing magic through him at the hiss of pain he lets out.

“You're not in trouble, Simon,” Magnus is briefly shocked by the snort he receives at this, “but I do need to know how you got hurt.” _Got_ _hurt_ , not _hurt yourself_ ; it's best to refrain from as much accusatory language as possible right now; better a hurt vampire than a defensive one.

That, of course, doesn't stop Simon from getting defensive, “And why would you like to know? Gonna go tell Raphael how I fucked up again?” as he speaks, he pushes Magnus’ hand from him and takes another step back, forcing the warlock to follow.

But he does not. “Young man, I don't report to mi niño any more than I report to the Clave. I just know that you are hurting, and considering those in the Institute have seen it fit to abandon us, I think we should take care of each other.” The boy visibly softens at this, and Magnus takes it for the small victory he knows it is.

Simon shuffles in place, not quite ready to admit something so… Selfish, but less ready to burn the olive branch being held out to him. “Alright, I… I may have stoodoutinthesunforaminute?” He rushes out, expecting anger or _something,_ but instead he hears the whir and feels the sickening spin of a portal, and then they're in what he can only assume is Magnus’ apartment.

Magnus doesn’t stick around to confirm this; he immediately moves around the large room, gathering boxes and bottles that rattle unnervingly. Suddenly giving in to his exhaustion, Simon leans into the couch next to him, letting the warlock do...whatever he's doing.

A gentle but repetitive tapping on his cheek rouses him, and he opens his eyes to see glowing yellow staring back at him. “Are you alright my dear? Do you need-oh, I believe you do.” Simon is confused until he follows Magnus’ gaze as it trails to his lips where. Oh. His fangs are out.

“Sorry man, guess I forgot to feed today-”

“Not to worry,” the warlock interrupts, already rushing to to grab a pitcher of blood from the mini-fridge in his kitchen. “With all the healing your body has needed to do, it is a wonder how your instincts have been kept down this long. Speaking of healing,” He hands him a cup of o-neg before moving to his workspace, and Simon wonders briefly at why he's never seen the other man so scatterbrained before.

“Here you are.” Magnus hands him a container with a thick and pungent cream in it, “Put this on the remainder of your burns; vampires can heal very quickly from most things, but when it comes to something that can turn them to ash, a bit of help is often needed.” Simon winces at the mention of what could have happened had he stayed in the sun just moments longer, but takes the offered treatment gratefully; each shift of his sleeves reminds him of the blistered skin on his arms. He carefully removes his flannel and slowly spreads the salve up and down his arms. As he moves to coat his face, he is pleased to note that the strong odor of the cream gives way to a cooling mint as he works with it.

Once Magnus is sure the boy has coated his blisters, he moves the container back to his shelves with a snap. He also picks up the empty glass and places it with his dishes, cleaning the remaining blood with a simple whispered charm. He turns back to find Simon leaning heavily on the couch again, and without many words ushers the boy into a laying position.

“Rest, my dear. No doubt you have a big night tomorrow.”

* * *

 

There is always a moment, of not-quite sleep but not-yet waking, where Simon forgets. Forgets turning, forgets feeding, forgets betrayals, and is ready to go out on the town with Clary for her 18th birthday.

But he wakes up.

And damn, does he regret it. The blisters on his arms, face are mostly healed, and this is one of the few nights he didn’t wake up starving. So really, he should be grateful, Grateful that the only lasting damage he has is this heaviness; even brushing his hair out of his face feels like swimming through cement. He isn’t.

The sound of someone walking near the couch clears the fog enough for him to sit up, a thank you for Magnus’ generous hospitality already on his lips, but he swallowed it quickly as the face that greeted him was none other than intimidating emo-archer Alec Lightwood. As in, the guy who hates him. As in, the guy who hates him and whose brother is missing and whose boyfriend’s couch he is currently resting on. Maybe he should have been grateful for the minimum damage, because he’ll be put back in the grave in a few seconds. Alec wouldn’t fail, at least.

“Simon? What are you doing he-”

“Nothing! Well I mean, obviously not nothing, I’m here aren’t I? But really, it was just some dumb vampire drama, you know how it is. Or you don’t, I guess, but uh…” Simon finally trails off after executing possibly the worst lie he’s ever told (even worse than trying to convince the Jewish Community Center youth leader that he hadn’t learned the lines in Hebrew because he was abducted by Martin Scorsese. He’d gotten a laugh out of that one, at least).

“No, I can’t say I do. Look, can you tell me where Magnus is- what’s on your face?” and oh, Alec is crouching down in front of him as he sits on the edge of an incredibly expensive and probably ancient couch, inspecting his face intently. “What happened? Are these _burns_?”

“Well, you see…”

“Ah Simon! How are you this evening? A touch better than yesterday, I hope,” Surprisingly, as Magnus interrupts them he doesn’t acknowledge Alec’s presence, instead sliding the container of salve into Simon’s lax hand, “that should help with the last of it. Are you hungry?”

Alec seems to be getting annoyed as Simon responds with a simple shake of the head, and Magnus makes to move away. He reaches his hand to Magnus, but stops at the surprisingly sharp look his boyfriend gives him. “Alec, why don't you help me fix up something in the kitchen? It may be too early for our nocturnal friend, but I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm sure you haven't done much better.” Alec lets himself be ushered into the kitchen, knowing it was just an excuse to talk in private.

“Magnus, why is he here? What happened to him?” Magnus sighs heavily in response, throwing up a silencing ward over the kitchen.

“I believe we've been too wrapped up in our drama to notice when one of ours is hurting,” and Alec is a little confused at that because sure, he didn't hate Simon but it's not like they were friends, and it wasn't like _his_ parabatai was being hunted down–“Simon tried to kill himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does no one love this boy enough  
> next up will be people finding out and the difference in approaches between downworlders, shadowhunters, and mundanes (or used-to-be mundanes)  
> also: pls scream at me on my tumblr to update this ( algea-dad.tumblr.com ) bc i have discontinued almost every fic ive written h el p me


	2. Chapter 2

“How could this happen? I mean-I know turning into a vampire must have been a little rough-”

“‘A little rough’?” Magnus breaks in with a sharp laugh, “ _Sayangku,_ this is where I mourn your Shadowhunter upbringing. The transformation to become a downworlder is incredibly challenging, both mentally and physically. And not only did Simon become a vampire; he became one after being thrust into the shadow world and shown vampires only in their worst possible light. So yes, I think ‘a little rough’ does not come close to covering it.” Alec leans back on the counter, thoroughly chastised. Magnus realizes how he had basically just told off his boyfriend and he too feels a little sheepish.

After a moment, Alec clears his throat, “All that being said, to go to this extreme… Are his burns from the sun, then?” Magnus gives a weary nod, and Alec shudders at the picture that brings to mind, “How could he have gotten to this point?”

Magnus reigns in the desire to snap, to show Alec just how common this is. Instead, he sighs, “Without the support of his clan, and with the Clave’s recent… Unsavory behavior, not to mention Jace's capture, I fear Simon has faded to the background. How I could let this happen, I don't know.”

His boyfriend moves over, holding his wrist gently. “Hey, this isn't your fault. He made this decision, and now you're here to help him. We’ll all be here, as much as we can.”

“Oh don't mention the others, I still haven't told Clarissa… Or Lucian,” At this he groans dramatically, but Alec can still see the worry behind his eyes.

“I can help, if you like? There aren't any real leads yet, I just had come over to see how you were doing.”

“That would be lovely, Alexander. I'll check up on Simon and then we'll get to work”

\--

Simon knows something is up. The silence from the kitchen is unnatural, and after a moment he guesses it to be a charm of some kind. Which means they don't want him to hear. Which means they're talking about him.

_Don't be so self-centered. They just don't trust you with anything important; they know as well as you that you'd just fuck it up._

His internal voice is cut off by a more important one; his hunger. If he was hungry this quickly, then that last feed must have been over four hours ago. _That's the most sleep I've gotten in weeks._

He didn't want to interrupt whatever conversation Alec and Magnus were having, yet just as he was working up the courage to do so the silence breaks and Magnus walks toward him, a forced smile on his face.

“Hello pet, how are you tonight? I see the salve has already finished healing your burns, but you're probably hungry now, aren't you?” Simon can hardly get a word in edgewise, so he just nods and waits for Magnus to hand him a glass. He turns his head away to start feeding, but notices the small flash of hurt in Magnus’s eyes. Not knowing how to interpret that, Simon feeds quickly before handing the cup back to Magnus. The warlock takes it, but still stands by the couch. Oh. He wants to talk.

“Simon,” he starts, using Simon’s real name in a rare show of seriousness, “I need to know before we start talking, who are you comfortable with knowing about this? I’m afraid my Alexander is already aware, and I would recommend you tell Clarissa at least, but I will not tell anyone without your permission.” And, wow, decisions are happening already. Simon doesn’t know what to say because honestly, he hadn’t expected to be alive to say anything.

_You shouldn’t tell anyone else, it’s bad enough the High Warlock of Brooklyn has to deal with your problems. The least you can do is keep quiet and stay out of the way._

And yet his stupid, stupid mouth starts to open anyways, and. Nothing. He tries for a second to speak, to tell Magnus not to bother anyone else, but it’s as if he’s swallowed his fangs, and making a single sound would sever his vocal chords. He _can_ speak, he knows he can but all the thoughts of what he could or should say, of whether his words would even _matter_ , condense into a rock in his throat.

Eventually, Magnus seems to realize he isn’t getting a response. “Ah. Of course; if I were in your position I wouldn’t be much in the mood for conversation either.” He moves to leave, and Simon wants to stop him, to explain, but the weight in his throat has settled in his body and he stays still on the couch. Magnus grabs the empty salve container from the side table and carries it and the glass to the kitchen.

Simon doesn't know what to do with this weight. Even the thought of getting up, of doing something, anything, seems impossible. So he lays back down and lets the exhaustion wash over him, lets the weight become a soothing pressure. He goes back to sleep.

\--

“Alexander, I think it would be best if you left. There really isn't much you can do here; I don't even know if I can do much for him.” Magnus sighs and clears away the dishes with a half-hearted wave of his hand.

“I just don't understand. Why won't he talk to you? Normally we can't get him to shut up.” Alec tries to chuckle but it comes out choked. Magnus puts his hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly.

“Sometimes, when the body experiences a trauma, or when a person is under an undue amount of stress, they stop talking to protect themselves; to show outwardly that they are hurt in order to get care.”

“But we're trying to help him! Why is he being so selfish!”

“This is not selfishness, my dear,” There is a hard edge to Magnus’ voice,  “this is a subconscious reaction to the numerous stressors in his life Simon is unable to cope with.”

“Well it seems like his biggest stress is self-created. If he hadn't tried to off himself-”

“Alec,” the cold yet blazing glare Magnus is giving him could (and probably has) leveled small cities, “I must insist you leave.”

“Maggie, come on you need support here-”

“ _Simon_ needs support here. And he clearly won't get it from you. Please leave.” With that Magnus turns from him, intent on checking the tracking alter for Jace once more before going to bed.

“Fine. Okay; yeah. I'll come back tomorrow.” Alec makes his way to the door.

“If you do, see that you return with a better attitude.” Magnus replies flippantly, and were it not for the tension Alec would have laughed at his boyfriend’s haughty tone. Instead, he walks out the front door.

Magnus leans against the counter wearily. “How I had wished for help when I was in Simon’s position; and yet, I do not envy him.” While he wants to respect Simon's decision, or lack there of, Magnus knows that the vampire’s loved ones should be informed at least that Simon has been injured. So, he grabs a notepad and resolves to come to a conclusion that makes Simon the most comfortable. With a wave of his hand, he dissolves the silencing ward around the kitchen and walks into the living room, but stops just short of the couch. His de facto ward is asleep on the couch, and despite the need for a resolution and the small amount of concern Magnus has for how much Simon is sleeping, he doesn't have the strength to rob him of a bit of rest.

\--

“Alec! Did something happen with Magnus? Did he find something?”

“No, Izzy,” Alec brushes her off, making his way to the training hall. Izzy follows him immediately.

“Come on, big brother, tell me what’s wrong.” She grabs lightly at his arm and isn't surprised to feel how tense he is before he shrugs her hand off.

Alec picks up a quarterstaff and starts beating the dummies. Alec only trains with melee weapons when he's frustrated. “I can't Izzy. It's not… It's none of my business.”

“Anything that is affecting you this much is definitely your business. Look,” she puts her hand on the quarterstaff, stilling him, “you don't have to go into specifics or name names but, brother, please tell me _something_.”

“Alright, uh. Someone… Someone really hurt themselves, and I feel like it’s my fault.”

\--

“Simon is with me, he's safe. That's really all I can say before he wakes up.” While Magnus wants to wait and respect whatever decision Simon makes on the matter, if his _friends_ keep calling he might tell them just to shut them up. Instead of waiting for Clary’s no-doubt angry reply, he hangs up: small victories.

It has barely been an hour since Alec left, and were it any other day Magnus might let Simon sleep longer than this, but a decision has to be made.

“Sweet Pea, you have to wake up now. Come on, there you go,” he slowly guides Simon into a sitting position as the boy wakes up, and stomachs his reaction to the flash of fear in Simon's eyes before he realizes where he is.

Just like before, Simon opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Wordlessly, Magnus hands him the notebook.

“Who can I tell about what happened, Simon? And I'm afraid you can't say no one; someone needs to know.” As Simon begins to write out his answer, he prays Clary’s name will end up on the list.

_Luke. Raphael. I'll tell others myself, later._

Magnus tries to hide his surprise at the list, “Okay, I'll call them. But may I ask… Why Rafa? While he is dear to me, I understand that your and his relationship is… Strained.”

Simon almost chuckles at that. _Will hopefully keep the clan off my back. Don't want them bothering me._

“I do not know if this will have that desired effect, but nevertheless I will tell him. Is there anything you need?”

The boy nods, _Where is your bathroom?_

Magnus gives him direction with little thought, planning out the two conversations he must have in his head. Luke is more reasonable, but also more protective, yet Raphael… Raphael will not be kept away from a clan member in pain.

\--

“Izzy, Alec; what happened? Is there news on Jace-”

Clary is broken off by a heavy sigh from Alec, whose shoulders are being rubbed casually by his sister.

“No, it's not Jace. Alec won't tell me who, but someone got hurt and Magnus is taking care them.” Now the exclamation comes from Clary herself, as she gasps and takes a step back from the pair.

“Simon is with Magnus, and he wouldn't tell me anything. Alec, you _have_ to tell me what happened.”

“No, it's personal.”

“He's family, Alec. I need to know what happened.” Alec winces at the mention of family, at how he yelled at her for being upset about Jace but now she has two family members hurt or missing, and doesn't she have a right to know? If it were Jace, Alec would demand every detail and tear down every barrier to get to him.

So he opens his mouth. “Simon tried to kill himself.”

And all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically simon is selectively mute, which Does Not mean he's choosing not to speak, it means he finds it impossible to speak in certain situations (in this case, anything to do with the massive trauma he just incurred on himself)
> 
> comments cure my depression (also the new episode??? fuck???)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see the end notes for sort-of spoilery warnings

They found him. Alec almost died and now Jace is in jail but they found him, they know where Jace is, they can see him and talk with him. This is great. _Now they don't have to pay attention to you at all, the golden boy is back so you can fade into the shadows; if you tried now they probably wouldn't even feel bad because they're so_ happy _that he's back. They weren't happy that_ you _survived, so maybe you'll make them even happier._

While the search for Jace had reached a head, Simon was left blissfully alone. It gave him time to make note of every exit, of the knives and what combinations of herbs could lead to a swift end. And now, he is still alone. Everyone is at the Institute or visiting Jace with the Silent Brothers, and that's great, right? Simon has time, and no one will notice, and it'll be fine. It'll be better, for all of them.

He picks up a knife, but his hand is shaking. He grips it tighter, stealing himself to his task. It lays against his skin, lightly, barely touching, and Simon can hear his sluggish heart start racing. _Do it, you coward. Let your filthy black blood flow so you can finally be clean. Come on, one, two strokes and you're dead_ -

The knife clatters to the ground, and Simon scrapes at his chest, his lungs desperate for air that is barely coming. He hadn't noticed how fast he was breathing until the lack of oxygen sent him to his knees, and here he is, shaking and dragging up ragged breaths too quickly for anything to come of them. He feels cold and yet there is sweat dripping from his brow, his stomach clenching as if there is anything more than blood to expel. And Simon realizes, in this panicked moment as he wonders if vampires can even have heart attacks, that he is scared of dying. He is so scared that even his feet feel it, scrambling for purchase on the floor as if he holds on tight enough, he will survive.

He _wants_ to survive.

He ignores the voice screaming failure in his ears and digs frantically through his pockets, his shaking hands eventually knocking his phone to the floor. From there, he just manages to tap his most recent call, not even checking who it was to before-

“Hello? I, I need help I th-think I'm dying I need, I need help I need _something_ ,”

“Simon, Simon what's wrong? Where are you?” The voice is deep and worried and sounds like scraped knees on the playground, like talks about girls and one girl in particular, like acceptance and support.

“I'm at Magnus’ apartment, I, I had a knife and I didn't _do_ anything but I c-can't _breathe_.”

“Don't worry Simon I'm on my way; I know you can breathe big guy just try and take a deep breath for me, I’ll be there before you know it.” Breathe, okay, Simon can do that. Or at least, he normally can but now it feels like his lungs can barely move, like his ribs are crushing them. But he tries; for Luke, for _life_ , he tries. And, eventually, it starts getting easier.

“Good, that's great Si; I'm at the apartment if you want to let me in.” Standing seems like an insurmountable task but he does, his knees shake but don't buckle, and at the door he rattles the handle for longer than he should, his fingers slipping over the lock until it clicks, and. Luke, so concerned with sweat dripping from his brow (did he _run_ here?) and his holsters from work still on and he's _here_.

Without any words Simon sags into him, the adrenaline leaving his body in droves until he has nothing but this empty tiredness. He's alive, and Luke's here, and now everything is gonna be okay.

\--

“Magnus, I'm with him now, you have to tell me what happened.”

“I promise Lucian, I had intended to tell you, but everything with Jace… I was quite tied up.” Luke sighs at this, leaning more into the couch but careful not to rouse the vampire currently pressed against him, sleeping fitfully after all but passing out in his arms moments earlier.

“We all were. But I know you know what's up, and considering I just talked the kid down from the mother of all panic attacks I think I'm owed an explanation.”

Magnus gives a sigh of his own over the receiver, “Yes, of course, it's just not the… Easiest subject. Simon has been low as of late, and I believe has felt quite abandoned. A few days ago he tried to end his life.”

On some level, Luke isn't surprised. Suicide is far too common in the downworld, and in the beginning of his own transition he'd had more than a passing thought.  But trying to reconcile that with Simon—bubbly, talkative Simon, the boy who always tried to cheer Clary up with dumb jokes and references to obscure sci-fi or whichever Swedish art film she’d dragged him to, the boy who talks through every emotion he has without hesitation—is almost impossible. He can’t imagine the person leaning against him, the person he cared for since his preschool years, not being in this world, or rather can’t imagine him not _wanting_ to be in this world. If only he’d noticed this sooner.

Luke shakes himself from that line of thought; it will do no good to place blame or to wonder what could have been. What Simon needs now is support, and a plan. “Who else knows?”

If they were in the same room, Luke would have seen a flash of anger come over the warlock’s face, “Alec found out in the aftermath, and… Revealed it to Isabelle and Clarrissa. In keeping my Alexander breathing, I’m afraid further discussion was pushed to the back burner, and again it seems that Simon has suffered for it. Do you know what might have triggered this?” Magnus  takes the time waiting for an answer to open a portal from the Institute to his living room; let him be damned if he doesn’t come to his children’s aid.

“He said he’d had a knife, so I’m assuming the worst. You on your way?”

“Of course.”

\--

Simon honestly needs to stop making a habit of waking up hungry and confused on Magnus’ couch. His confusion only grows as he feels the vibrations of someone speaking through his pillow. A pillow that feels suspiciously like a man’s muscled shoulder. Oh. It’s Luke that he is resting on, and Luke who is responding in a low voice to someone else in the room. He’s tempted to stay here, eyes closed and breathing in the comfortable scent of his surrogate dad, but with what happened today ( _tonight? yesterday?_ ) it seems an open conversation is in order.

Still; he might as well wait a _bit_ longer and find out who else is in the room. It doesn’t take very long once he focuses his ears to make out the signature polished tones of Magnus, but no one else is present. Just two people, Simon can do this. He lifts his head and stretches, trying to ignore the instant silencing of the men’s conversation and how the attention he feels on him stings. “H-hey guys.”

And yes, he's purposefully avoiding looking at them, eyes instead wrapped around his own shaking fingers because he can't bear to see the hurt, the worry, or the disappointment in either man's eyes. Neither of them say anything, which Simon really should have expected, but that block in his throat is back so he can't even clear the awkward silence he created.

With no warning, Magnus gasps and snaps his fingers, and suddenly a notepad and pen is on the table in front of Simon. The boy sneaks a grateful look at him and grabs the pen.

 _Does he know?_ He shows this to Magnus, and gets a simple nod in response. Simon takes a shaky breath and scratches off that line, starting again.

 _What time is it_?

“Ten A.M.” Luke says.

 _So earlier this morning I'd planned on killing myself_ , His hands shake as he writes, _but then I couldn't breathe and was so scared that I was dying that I wanted to live. If that makes sense._

“Yes, my dear, that makes perfect sense. When our death is out of our control, survival instincts tend to kick in.” Magnus responds, seeming much more calm than Simon really has any hope of being. And that makes sense, but now that those “survival instincts” have worn off, all he can really feel is failure and a desire to try again.

He doesn't share any of this. _Feed?_

“Of course; you didn't really strike me as one who'd help themselves to my stores while I'm away. But you are welcome to.” Magnus finishes with a softer tone at that, and Simon is struck by the sincerity and how… Good it makes him feel to receive it.

As the host gathers blood and drinks for himself and the other guest, Simon is left with Luke. Looking him in the eyes is a challenge he doesn't even attempt to face, knowing it would result in either tears or another one of those attacks. Probably both.

“How long have you been feeling this way, Simon?” And oh. He had expected a ‘what were you thinking?’ or any other reprimand, but to actually think on the cause is something Simon hadn’t considered. Still, for Luke he’ll try. He’d been anxious for most of his life, but had never had a panic attack like the one before. The weight he was feeling now, though; the heavy emptiness and the will to do little more than sleep; that was new, and yet he can’t pinpoint its start.

Simon is honest with Luke, writing that he really doesn’t know how long it has been. Luke sighs after reading it, and now Simon is sure the lecture will come. The disappointment, the accusing, the ‘why can’t you just get over it’. But it doesn’t. Instead, there are arms wrapped around him.

He’s being hugged.

“We’re going to fix this, Simon. You’re going to get better.” In the back of his mind, the part of him not currently freaking out over the rush of emotions just from hugging Luke, Simon wonders why Magnus hasn’t returned yet with the drinks, because realistically that would only take a second. But as he squeezes tighter, he realizes this is why. _This_ , the talking and hugging and caring from Luke. They’re both trying to help him. They both care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Simon has a panic attack caused by another suicide attempt  
> \--  
> consistent update schedule? i don't know her. y'all this chapter was hard to write, i know the jump over the whole finding jace thing was kinda jarring but i needed to focus on my sweet boy. if anyone has any conversations they'd really wanna see simon having pls tell me, bc writing that thing between luke and him was impossible.  
> s/o to the last two episodes for those good good simon moments


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see the warnings in the end notes

Healing is a slow process. Every day, Simon opens up a little more, reaches for hugs a bit more often, and while it's far from immediate he does start to feel better. Though, of course, with the meeting he’ll be having today, that could all change. Raphael Santiago, leader of the Brooklyn clan and occasional tormentor of one particularly tired fledgling, would be at Magnus’ apartment to… Talk.

Similar meetings are actually set up almost every day this week, ranging from the dreaded talk with Clary to what will no doubt be an interesting conversation with Alec and the newly freed Jace. That is, these meetings _may_ occur if Simon isn't skinned and bled by Raphael today.

“Ah, Raphael; come in my dear,” _Speak of the devil_. Simon lifts himself off the bed in his guest room and speeds to the door but doesn’t open it, instead listening closely to the conversation between Magnus and Raphael.

“... I’m just here to make sure he knows his clan hasn’t forgotten him.” _What?_

“I know, niño, I just want to make sure you aren’t as… Abrasive as usual.”

“I’ve been here before with new clan members, I know how to be kind to the fledgling.” At this he hears Magnus take in a sharp breath that matches his own.

“I recommend not referring to him as such; I believe he associates it with being useless or inexperienced. I also believe he has been listening in on our conversation, so. Best of luck!” And that is all the warning Simon has to move away from the door before there is an impatient knock at it. He cautiously invites Raphael in, his voice rasping from the recent under-use. Initiating the conversation is much too daunting of a task, so Simon perches himself on the edge of the bed (and oh, how he had missed sleeping in beds instead of a canoe). If he didn’t know the suave vampire better, Simon would say that Raphael is anxious too, standing awkwardly across from him with hands clasped loosely.

“Are you… Do you feel more alright now? Are you feeling stable?” Raphael posits, tone kept carefully neutral, but if Simon tried he could find a good deal of concern.

“Y-yeah, being with Magnus has really helped. Actually, j-just being with people in general has been… Nice.” He didn’t want to reveal too much, but in the past week Magnus and Luke had both been encouraging him to be more honest. It made it easier to talk, loosened the knot in his throat a little to know that people expected honesty instead of happy-go-lucky Simon.

In a rare moment of kindness, the older man puts a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I’m glad. Everything that happened with Camille… We aren’t on good terms, but I have respect for you and the work you’ve done with the Shadowhunters. We’re still connected by blood, mi amigo. That kind of thing means something.” Blood. _Oh God, I didn’t even think about my mom. She wouldn’t even know, someone would probably encanto her and then-_

“-I’m gonna get Magnus for you,” The whurr of vampire speed, and then Magnus is in front of him, and this must be a panic attack because he can’t breathe and Magnus is holding his hands trying to get him to match breaths and _I hope Raphael isn’t seeing this_.

Simon comes to his senses faster than the few attacks he’s had this week, and he looks around to find the room thankfully vacant outside of the warlock sitting beside him on the bed.

“I-I’m okay now. Thanks, Magnus.”

“It’s no problem, my dear; did Raphael say something…?” Simon huffs out a laugh.

“No, no. Actually, he was strangely nice about it all.”

Magnus pats his legs and stand, “I do try not to spend time caring for _total_ assholes. There’s blood on the bedside table, and I’m in the living room if you need me.”

How did Simon end up with people who care this much?

\--

“So… How are you guys?” Simon winces as soon as he says it. He really can’t help to feel awkward around these two, though. Alec, one of the first people who saw him _after_ , who saw the burns and the tear-stained cheeks; and Jace, the one who helped _rise_ , one of the first people to see him in his new form and the only person not to change, to still insult him and dismiss him like nothing had happened but also to _defend_ him. These two are powerful, and sure, and everything he tried so hard to be and failed _not failed you just need help asking for help is never wrong_.

And that’s a change, too. A new voice in his head, a new facet of his thoughts that encourages and placates and sounds like Luke and Magnus and his mom all at once. Maybe he can do this.

Alec is the first to respond, “It’s been rough, but what’s new. We’re all together now, though. How-How’ve you been?”

At least Simon isn’t the only one feeling out of his depth, “It’s gotten… Better, now. Magnus, Luke, they’ve helped. You guys shouldn’t be worried about me, with everything that’s happening. There’s bigger fish to fry.” He ends with a self-deprecating smirk, looking down at his hands. His head snaps up though when Jace huffs impatiently.

“We are literally here to check up on you. By the Angel, Simon, you tried to _kill_ yourself. Just because you weren’t kidnapped or held prisoner doesn’t mean you aren’t hurting.” Alec puts a hand on Jace’s shoulder, trying to communicate that he should calm down, but Simon jumps up from the couch.

“Newsflash, asshole, I _was_ kidnapped and held prisoner! And I’m sorry that I can’t just brush it off like you, I’m sorry that I-I am weak, and broken, and not enough but I am _trying_ , I have been trying to be happy and helpful and it doesn’t work. So, how’ve I been? Well, I tried to kill myself twice, Luke is pretty sure I have PTSD, and my new best friend is a warlock who only just bothered to learn my real name! I’ve been doing fan- _fucking_ -tastic.” He turns away from them, clenching his fists to try and combat this sudden anger. He had become so used to the numb, and to the praise he’d gotten from Luke at how quickly he’d learned to ‘control his urges’, that an outburst like this just feels wrong.

Jace doesn’t let him turn away, shrugging off Alec’s hand. Simon immediately regrets what he said; it had been mere days since Jace got away from Valentine, but it almost seems as if the blond was looking for this reaction, “Good! No-one expects you to be okay, Simon! When I got back, I tried so hard to suppress it, to pretend to be happy like you did, and it doesn't _work_ . To be there with my _father_ ,” he spits out the word, “to have him calling me my old name, call me his daughter and saying he loves me as I'm beaten and forced to do awful things-” he seems to cut himself off, collecting himself for a moment, “-I was lucky that Alec could feel through our bond what was happening. He got me to talk and I'm still not okay, there's still all this shit inside me that won't go away but it's so much better than hiding, Simon. It really is.” Jace is crying, now, more open and vulnerable than Simon could ever have imagined seeing.

Alec pulls his parabati close to him, pressing their foreheads together quickly. They both close their eyes, breathing in each other and their connection, and Simon watches in shock, running over everything that has just happened and not understanding why. But then that voice comes back; _he's going through his own journey, and he's trying to share it with you. He's trying to heal by helping you heal._

The two shadowhunters eventually separate, and Simon decides to keep the sharing train rolling. “I think I'm… I'm starting to understand that now. Jace, could I talk with you alone?” He stares awkwardly at the other man in the room, “No offense, Alec, but I just…”

Alec thinks back to his argument with Magnus, to their reconciliation after Magnus explained some of his own demons, explained how being seen so raw and open by someone you don't know enough to trust can be almost as traumatic as the feelings themselves, and he understands. Without much more than a nod to both of them, he steps out of the room, intent on seeing where exactly Magnus hid in order to give them privacy.

The remaining two both seem to have lost some of the confidence that came with the passion of before, and Simon is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Jace eventually makes the decision to sit, and when Simon continues to stand there he pulls at the back of his shirt and then pats the other side of the couch. As soon as Simon is seated he turns his body to Jace, and yet he keeps his head down.

“I've always been just the funny one, y’know? Ever since I was little, I was always the one cracking jokes to get people to smile, to forget about their problems for a second. Growing up mundane might not be quite as dramatic as the shadow world, but some of it… Some of it’s the same.” Jace hums, curious but not judging. This is the longest he's spoken with Simon about anything, and to be honest he's interested in getting to know him.

“I was twelve when someone put a swastika on my locker. When you're Jewish, even at that age, you know what that means. Honestly, I don't even think the kids that did it really understood but. I did. It got reported to the school and everything, and I knew nothing would come of it but to-to see my mom when she heard, to see the fear and the anger and the sadness in her eyes, I knew I couldn't come to her with something like that again. So I kept joking, I avoided talking about it, talking about the looks I got, or the whispers, or the fucking _laughs_ when the holocaust was mentioned in school. I pushed it down because I knew when I got home for Yom Kippur that my family could really, really use a laugh.”

“Has something… Has something like that happened here? Or at the Institute?” Jace poses, unsure where the connection to the shadow world is but suddenly frighteningly sure that he’ll protect Simon from it, whatever it is.

“No… And yeah. You guys don't really seem to care about being Jewish, and no one's ever looked at me funny when I mention my rabbi or my bubbie Helen, but when I turned… Let's just say I knew those looks. From shadowhunters, from werewolves, from mundanes; you always know that look when you see it. When I was sent to the storage garage, suddenly it felt like I was 12 years old again, staring at a school locker, but the difference is… I never hated myself for being Jewish.”

They sit in silence after that. Nothing Jace can say would be useful, or something Simon hasn't heard before. Jace knows that shadowhunters have prejudices, knows that he himself has both fallen victim to them and slung them at others, but for a downworlder… The Clave would even prefer a fucked-up queer orphan over a downworlder.

Still. Hating yourself for something you can't change? That, Jace understands. He has his own scars; not the ones on his chest that he has now grown to love, but the ones down his thighs. Stepping into the sun wouldn't exactly work for a shadowhunter, but Jace had found a way. Only one, though, and Jace now remembers an almost insignificant point from Simon’s earlier tirade: twice. He'd said he'd tried to kill himself twice, and Jace only knows about one time.

It feels wrong, dangerous to pry in this newly-found ceasefire, but Jace has never been one to shy away from the dangerous. He edges closer to Simon on the couch.

“I'm not saying our experiences are the same, because they're not, but… I've been low, too. Low enough to try ending it, and I probably would have if it weren't for my parabati bond. It only happened that one time for me, but I was wondering if you…”

“No! No I-I never tried before this, and I never,” for a brief second the light, bubbly nervousness Jace had come to expect from Simon had returned, but it quickly deflated as he continued, “oh. I guess, yeah I guess I um. I had a knife and tried to, a bit after but um. That wouldn't have even worked anyways so.” He huffs a little laugh, and something seems to click into place for Jace at that. Simon doesn't just joke around to help other people; he jokes around to help himself. In the same way that Jace fronts and brags to hide himself for others’ sakes, but also to bolster his own self esteem. Sometimes, helping and hurting go both ways.

The pair stay like that, breathing and taking in all that has been said. Eventually, Jace stands, and holds out a hand that Simon tentatively grabs.

“Okay,” he starts, a subdued version of his usual cocky grin on his face, “let's face the music.” And as he leads Simon to the kitchen, the tension of the conversations seems to fade away. There is no anxiety balling in his chest, no sinking feeling pulling his mouth shut and his body to the ground. It's just him, and Jace, going into a room full of people who know. Who care.

The scene they walk in on is, in a word, adorable. For some ungodly reason, Magnus is covered in flour and Alec’s hair is flashing a multitude of colors. Simon guesses that they were baking at some point, but it clearly devolved into Alec throwing ingredients at Magnus who responded with innocent displays of magic.

“You are insufferable,” Magnus sighs, before kissing Alec tenderly. The moment is broken up by Jace’s horribly sharp wolf whistle, startling the men out of their reverie. Magnus coughs and not-so-subtly ends the charm on Alec’s hair, and cleans his clothes and the countertop with a wave of his fingers.

Some part of Simon feels guilty, almost, for spoiling it, but then Jace cracks an egg on Alec's head.

“I missed the colors-” Is all of the cheeky retort he can get out before engaging in a half food-fight, half wrestling match with a now brown-but-eggy haired Alec.

In the chaos, Magnus moves casually towards Simon.

“Before you ask, I'm fine Maggie. Good, actually. Jace can be… Pretty understanding when he wants to be.”

The warlock sends a fake glare his way, “Actually, I was going to ask whether you wanted to buy a replacement for the cake I failed to make. But because of your sass, I can assume the answer to be a yes.”

Simon snorts, “You can have one summoned from Paris in seconds and we both know it.”

“Yes, but: where's the fun in that?” Their banter is interrupted by a knock on the door. The wards would have gone off if it was an unapproved presence (re: anyone Magnus didn't care to talk to) so Simon tries not to pay it much mind, instead focussing on the rather unsportsmanlike behavior of Jace trying to tickle Alec into submission.

He still focusses his vampiric hearing on the door, so who exactly it is comes through loud and clear.

“Oh hello, Clarissa. What a… Surprise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Open discussions of suicide, kidnapping, bullying, and anti-Jewish hate crimes. Use of queer as a self-label but not in a positive way, and slight self-misgendering 
> 
> i had my wisdom teeth out at the beginning of this month so i was v much not motivated to write (instead i watched all the seasons of great british bake-off that are on netflix and cried abt cakes). to make up for the absence this accidentally ended up a page longer than usual. this fic is wrapping up within the next chapter or two so if you want to suggest smth now's the time.  
> please tell me what u think abt this chapter and the jace+simon interaction. was it good? annoying? out of character? (also i finally got to write in swears so ofc i included 'newsflash asshole' no one can stop me)


	5. Epilogue

“I want to talk to Simon. Alone.” Like always, Clary doesn't waste time with pretenses. Even though she's talking to Magnus, she's looking directly at Simon, who had walked into the room upon hearing her voice.

“I really don't know if now is a good time,” Magnus says, keeping his voice light, but there's a hard, protective edge to it.

“Agreed. It's not.” And that's Jace. After their conversation today, it's not quite as shocking that he'd come to his defense as it would have been even an hour prior, but to feel him come to stand behind him is still new. Alec has also left the kitchen at this point and come to stand by his boyfriend, somehow managing to look stoic and intimidating with egg dripping from his hair and flour all over his black clothes.

Clary scoffs at the display, “Really, guys? He's my best friend. I'm not going to hurt him.”

Simon turns and puts a hand on Jace's shoulder, pretending not to notice Clary's surprise at the familiar movement. “It's no problem guys. Stand down, or whatever. I'm good, Clary's good, and we’re gonna talk.”

Magnus seems to be the first to agree to this, stepping away from the doorframe he'd been blocking Clary from walking through. “Alright then, if you're sure. Do you need the notepad?”

Simon shakes his head, “No. I think… I think I can say what I need.” he grabs Clary's hand and walks with her to the balcony, and the both ignore the three pairs of eyes watching them intently as they step out, though Simon makes a point of locking the door behind them.

Sitting on the balcony, knees faintly touching, Simon doesn't feel quite as confident about talking with Clary as he had when convincing the others. He can't help but realize that this is the first time he’s been outside since the attempt.

“So… Jace. That's new?” It comes out much more as a question than Simon intended because he really, really doesn't know what to say to Clary. She's his best friend; he swears half the time they can communicate through eyebrow-lifting alone. Yet now, it's like he's sitting next to someone he hasn't seen in years, like he knows the outline of her life but doesn't know the person in it.

“Simon, that's… Really not what I came to talk with you about. I just wanna talk about you, about what happened.” Her voice is gentle, yet there's a sureness in it, like she knows that they  _ will _ have this conversation and things  _ will _ get better.

“About how I tried to kill myself,” she winces, “and how I didn't talk with you about it? I don't really know what you want me to say, Clary. I got low, I didn't want to bother you with it.”

“But you're not a bother, Simon! You're my best friend, you're family and I'll  _ always  _ be here for you, no matter what end-of-the-world shadowhunter bullshit is going on.”

Simon slides a hand into hers in response, and she gives his a gentle squeeze. Sitting here with her, he’s struck with how things have changed. He's wearing loafers instead of Vans or those awful Jesus sandals he wore all of senior year, and Clary is laced into combat boots (like actual, military combat boots, not overpriced Dr. Martens but ones with steel toes and most likely a hidden knife compartment in the heel), where only months before she wouldn't be caught dead in anything other than her ratty Converse, with the left shoe decorated in her artful hand and the right shoe covered in awful memes by Simon himself.

But not everything has changed. They still rhythmically click their knees together, the only sound in the relative silence they sit in, just like they have for years, on couches or beds or rooftops. Clary still puts her hand on top of his to lace their fingers together, still has the same calloused fingers, though now they come from wielding swords and daggers instead of paintbrushes and pencils. And yes, now Simon's blood runs slow and cold, now Clary’s burns with angelic power but this, them, this can never be unfamiliar.

Eventually Simon decides to break the comfortable silence, air rushing around his arms as he moves rapidly.

“Did you just-”

“Well, yes-”

“Simon! You just dabbed while we were holding hands! I can't believe you!” She maintains her righteous fury for all of two seconds before succumbing to the giggles Simon had been trying to restrain. They laugh together, and it feels like something shifts and clicks into place. Like things aren't fixed, but they're healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's the end! i know this chapter is pretty short but it feels like a nice little ending scene. I'll be writing abt my boy Simon and my other children v soon; i already have one chapter written of another shadowhunters fic (it's a.... kinda strange jimon fic) and there are quite a few in the works.   
> in the meantime if u need some shadowhunters fics u should check out my friend loosermoose 's fics bc they're kind of amazing.


End file.
